


Kiss

by heyitsamorette (AmoretteHD)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bisexuality, Boys Kissing, Christmas Fluff, Fluff, Harry is bi, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Jealousy, Kissing, M/M, Mistletoe, Romance, flangst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-11 00:21:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8945191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmoretteHD/pseuds/heyitsamorette
Summary: Harry and Draco are forced to kiss over and over again, because that’s just what happens to two arch-enemies around Christmas.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Branka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Branka/gifts).



> Thank you so much to my incredible betas Oceaxe and Digthewriter, you are lovely and gorgeous. Thank you to the Owlpost mods for giving me an extra day. I hope you like this, Branka! Merry Christmas:)
> 
> Questions? Contact me on tumblr: [@heyitsamorette](https://heyitsamorette.tumblr.com/)

Harry sat across from Ron at the Gryffindor table enjoying a nice ham and cheese sandwich when three dense textbooks slammed onto the table and rattled everything within reach. A piece of ham fell out of his sandwich and his pumpkin juice sloshed onto his plate, soaking his chips.

“Hermione!” Ron said, dragging his plate aside in protection. “Watch where you put those things! We’re trying to eat here.”

Hermione plopped down on the bench beside him in a whirlwind of hair and robes. “She’s trying to take over! Well, I will not have it, I _will not."_

Ron looked at Harry dubiously. It was time to decide if they were going to ask what she was on about and risk getting sucked into her new planning committee business, or if they were just going to be quiet and hope it went away.  If they asked, she would no doubt distract them from finishing their lunch, and Harry was hungry—though his chips were ruined now. Ron was probably hungry too. They should just nod companionably and try to finish their lunch before the next class.  But even if they didn’t ask, she would tell them anyway and just be miffed they weren’t paying attention. And then possibly not help them with that Potions essay later.

Harry cleared his throat. “Who’s taking over what, Hermione?”

“Pansy bloody Parkinson.”

“Parkinson?”He was surprised to hear her name crop up. “What has she done?” Even though she and a handful of other Slytherins had returned to Hogwarts this year, their little group had remained noticeably muted thus far.

“McGonagall’s made her my co-chair.”

“Co-chair of what?” Ron asked.

Hermione gave an exasperated sigh. “Only the thing I’ve been talking about since school started.” She looked between the two of them, her scowl increasing with every passing second they weren’t showing awareness. “The C.O.C! Really, do I have to remind you every time?”

Ron bit his lip and glanced at Harry. He was probably too scared of pissing Hermione off at this delicate stage in their relationship, so it was really up to Harry.

“Oh,” he said, keeping his voice as even as possible, “why didn’t you just say you were talking about cock?”

“ _It’s NOT cock_ !” Then Hermione realized she had yelled ‘cock’ in the Great Hall and her face went bright red for a moment before she continued in a quieter tone when no one seemed to be paying her any mind. “It’s C O bloody C. There isn’t even a K in that…” She rolled her eyes. “You two are so immature, how do you still find that funny?”

“Sorry, you’re right, what it is again?” Harry grinned at Ron, whose shoulders were shaking as he bit his lip with barely controlled laughter.

“For the last time, it’s the Committee for the Organization of Cheer.”

“Oh, right,” Harry said.

“Why won’t either of you take it seriously? We need to do everything we can to add more cheer around here, especially for the holidays. Don’t you realize how much everyone needs this? Do you think inter-house unity is a joke?”

“Absolutely not,” Harry said. “It’s a very noble cause.  I can’t wait to go grab a pint with some Slytherins next time we’re in Hogsmeade.”

“And I can certainly see the need for a planning committee,” Ron added, nodding.

“A committee is completely necessary; there is so much that needs to be done.” Hermione said. “Who else would plan the Yule Ball?”

Ron groaned. “What do you mean, Yule Ball? Are we doing that again?”

“The faculty and members of the committee thought it would be a very good contribution to increasing overall cheer.”

“But why are you worrying about that now? It’s October.”

“These things take longer than a few days to plan, Ron.”

“And why on earth would you want to have another Yule Ball? Did anyone actually enjoy the last one?”

“Come to think of it,” she said, pausing as though trying to remember, “I don’t believe so.” She raised her eyebrows at him.

Ron snuck Harry a covert glance; one that said he was completely aware she was referring to the debacle of his shameful failure to ask Hermione to the ball before Krum did during Fourth Year .

“Hopefully this year will be much more pleasant,” Hermione added pointedly.

Harry sniggered as he bit into his sandwich. She wasn’t going to let Ron get away with anything this time around, especially now that they were properly dating, and he wasn’t quite sure if that was going to be amusing or if their relationship drama was going to become painfully annoying. He—and everyone else in Gryffindor tower—was already subjected to the sight of them snogging on sofas and mooning over each other in front of the fireplace. But as nauseating as those things were, it was infinitely better than playing their go-between if they ended up having another epic row… which, if his memory served him well, seemed to occur at least one time every year for as long as they’d known each other.

“And Pansy Parkinson not only weaseled her way into heading the plans for the Yule Ball,” Hermione was saying, “now she has somehow convinced McGonagall that it would be better if there were two chairs of C.O.C. and McGonagall agreed and made her my co-chair! She claims it would help split up the work-load. But I don’t want to split it up, I like the workload!” She banged a fist on her textbook. “It’s not even that much work. Parkinson just wants to get in McGonagall’s good graces again. She’s such a… a… a fake!”

“Are we going to have to wear dress robes again?”

“That’s not what matters right now, Ron. And that’s another thing: Pansy wants to get rid of dress robes and let everyone wear Muggle attire. _Can you believe that?_ Muggle attire to a Hogwarts ball! Sure, wear all the jeans and trainers you want to Hogsmeade, but it would be unacceptable not to follow tradition at Hogwarts.”

“That’s brill—I mean, that’s horrible,” Ron said. “She’s vile.”

“It’s not like she actually gives a damn about Muggle clothes, obviously. She’s just suggesting that now to look open-minded about Muggles and change her image. She’s just doing it for politics!”

Harry and Ron nodded emphatically. It was probably true, but if it meant Harry didn’t have to dress up in lacy old-fashioned dress robes, he wasn’t inclined to fight the matter. If he were forced to go to this thing—and it was clear he would be—he’d much rather go in trousers and a nice jacket. Much simpler.

Before he knew it, and only halfway through his sandwich, lunchtime had come to an end and students all around them were getting up from their tables and getting ready to go to class. He resolved to have a huge dinner as he slung one strap of his bag over his shoulder. He didn’t mind, to be honest. He was just happy to be here again—a few months ago, he wasn’t even sure he’d be alive. Now he was walking through the halls of a newly restored Hogwarts with his two best friends, watching Ron poke Hermione in the side just to bother her, and because he still wasn’t good at flirting. Harry smiled and followed them through the bustling crowd of students.

Suddenly, he stopped following them.

It wasn’t like he did it on purpose. He wanted to follow them, he _tried_ to follow them, but he couldn’t. His legs wouldn’t move. They felt as rooted to the ground as tree trunks, as stiff as though he’d been hit by a Petrify.

Harry tried to lift his leg and take a step but it was completely futile. “Hey… Hey, Ron! Hermione!”

They had made some progress down the hall so they couldn’t hear him. He pulled out his wand and aimed, making sure to avoid the other people milling about. His stinging hex hit Ron square in the arse.

“Ow!” Ron turned around, rubbing his rear. “Who the hell—Harry.” He spotted him. “What are you doing?”

“I’m stuck!”

“What?” Ron shouted.

“Come over here.” Harry waved them over, though Hermione was already marching her way back. “I’m stuck,” he repeated now that they were within hearing distance. He tried to take a step to demonstrate.

Hermione was looking up, her shoulders sloping. “Oh no,” she groaned.

Harry followed her gaze. Floating a few feet above him was a small bunch of green leaves and berries.

“I’m going to strangle Peeves!” Hermione said. “Ron, step away.” She stuck her hand out like a barrier and herded Ron a step backward.

“Hermione,” Harry said, a nerve beginning to twitch irritatedly in his temple, “does this random piece of mistletoe have anything to do with the fact that my legs won’t work?”

“He wanted to be part of it,” she said miserably.

“Who?”

“Peeves. He wanted to help spread cheer. We told him no, obviously, for reasons exactly such as this. But it looks like he took matters into his own hands. Oh, Harry, I’m sorry!” Though, a small smile crept over her face and she brought her hand up to her mouth and giggled.

He didn’t like being stuck. And he didn’t like not knowing what was going on. “What’s so funny about this? Are you saying Peeves put this here?” He pointed up.

“I’m certain it was him. I’m just sorry you had to stumble upon it.”

“You don’t look sorry,” he said, noticing her large grin.

“Oh, Harry, it’s… well, it’s really not that bad. When we wouldn’t let him join the C.O.C, he threatened to put up magical mistletoe. It looks like he was angry enough to go through with it. It’s a terrible nuisance but it’s simple to get out of; you’ll just have to…” She laughed softly, looking at him through her lashes. “Just kiss someone and you’ll be on your way.”

He wished he had heard her wrong. “Are you kidding me?”

Ron threw his head back in laughter and Hermione hit him in the arm. “I’m afraid not,” she said. “Oh, come now, there must be someone you can give a quick peck to. I’d even…” She trailed off and glanced at Ron.

“No.” Harry was firm on this, he didn’t want to so much as kiss Hermione on the cheek. At least not while her relationship with Ron was so new and memories from their camping trip were so fresh; he had a feeling Ron still had nightmares about that locket’s taunting illusions. “I’ll just…” Harry sighed as he looked around. Not only was the crowd becoming scant as students filtered into their respective classrooms, there was no one remotely close by that Harry wanted to kiss.

The last person he kissed had been Ginny, and that was no longer an option. His chest prickled with the usual mix of jealousy and anger he always got these days when confronted with thoughts of Ginny. Frenzied imaginings of her and Neville holding hands and skipping through a field of snow—not something Ginny would ever do, though he hadn’t settled on a verdict for Neville—darted through his mind.

“So I absolutely have to kiss someone to get out of this? Please tell me there’s some kind of counter spell.”

Ron took out his wand. “Finite Incantatem.” Harry tried again to take a step, but his legs were still glued down. “Sorry, mate,” Ron said with a shrug.

“You could kiss him, you know.” Hermione said, jerking a thumb toward Ron.

Ron’s face made his horror clear. Something about his disgusted scowl only sent a stab of irritation through Harry’s chest. It even rivaled his lowkey anger at the idea of Neville snogging his ex-girlfriend.

And it made him think of something else…

All throughout the years at Hogwarts and hanging out with the Weasley brothers, it was impossible not to be aware of his own innate curiosities. At first, he had chalked it up to platonic appreciation of the male form. Anyone could see that Bill was handsome and that Charlie was hot as Fiendfyre. He was sure Oliver Wood could have gotten anyone’s blood pumping with his infectious excitement for Quidditch and his masculine aggression and competitiveness. And Cedric, well, it still hurt to think about him, and Harry was just starting to realize how most of his memories of Cedric were focused on his gorgeous face and warm smile. And perhaps the prefect’s bath.

He liked blokes. He had always done. Maybe just as much as he liked girls. Maybe more. The truth is, Harry had never had a chance to find out. Not only had he never let himself think about it, but he was horrible with girls as it was, so trying to imagine going up to, say, Charlie and, say, _flirting_ with him only made Harry feel queasy. Frankly, he’d rather take a Bludger to the head.

“I don’t think Harry would appreciate it very much if I kissed him,” Ron said.

Another stab. Not that he had any of those kinds of feelings for Ron, but the instant rejection of any such notion was hard to swallow anyway. He just couldn’t help it.

“Of course not,” Harry said. He knew Ron didn’t mean it like that. “I’d rather kiss the Giant Squid, no offense.”

“And none taken!”

“Well then, Harry will just have to stay here until someone more appealing comes along,” Hermione said. When neither of them argued with her, she flung her arms up. “Oh for god’s sake, I’m joking. That’s ridiculous. Harry, you can’t just stand here forever. You’ll have to just be a big boy and kiss someone and get it over with. Honestly, the way you two act about it... A kiss is just a kiss!”

Just then, there was stomping and heavy footsteps behind him and Harry turned around as best he could to see what it was. He couldn’t turn all the way with his feet planted facing forward, so all he managed to catch a glimpse of was a large, boulder-like body following behind a much leaner body, as well as a flash of silvery blond hair.

“Shit, is that Malfoy?” Harry asked, since they had a more direct view.

“Yeah,” Ron said, “and Goyle. Late to class, are you?” he shouted to them.

The footsteps barrelled nearer and Harry heard Malfoy shout back, “So are you, dickhead!”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t matter if I am, does it?”

“Ron!” Hermione glared at him.

Ron’s ears pinkened at the tips and Harry could tell he instantly felt bad about needling at that spot specifically. Old habits die hard, and hating Malfoy was one of them; Harry couldn’t blame him. Besides, it’s not like Malfoy didn’t give back as good as he got.

Harry knew—only because he had been at the Death Eater trials earlier this summer—that Malfoy was on very thin ice at school. He couldn’t afford to be late for class or even to miss an assignment. In fact, he couldn’t afford to fuck up at all. He had been allowed to come back and retake his final year like everyone else, but he was on strict probation.

“Malfoy, stop!” Hermione yelled.

But it was too late. Harry felt the wind being knocked out of him before he heard Malfoy’s grunted, “ _Oomph!_ ”  Malfoy was on the floor, and if Harry’s legs hadn’t been stuck as they were, he’d have been too.

“Fuck!” Malfoy stood up. “Why the _hell_ is this floor slippery!”

“Must have tripped on your robes,” Goyle said, panting to a stop.

“Shut up!” Malfoy ran a hand through his hair to pull it out of his face. He was standing very close to Harry.

“Oh, no…” Hermione was looking rapidly from Harry to Malfoy with a deep-set frown. “Harry, don’t freak out…”

Realization dawned on him. “No.” He pushed on Malfoy’s shoulder, not wanting to believe that Malfoy was stuck, too.

“Watch it, Potter,” Malfoy spat, shoving him back. But, of course, Harry didn’t fall.

“Move, Malfoy,” Harry said, and it wasn’t a command, it was a desperate urging. “Please move.”

“Gladly,” Malfoy huffed and turned toward his bag, which had fallen open and unleashed his textbooks all over the floor. He made to take a step toward it, and then– “What the bloody hell?” He couldn’t. “What’s happening? What’s wrong with my feet? Potter! What have you done?” he raved as he continued, without success, to bend his knees and lift his legs. “This isn’t funny, you prick, let me go.”

“I’m not doing it, Malfoy.”

“Potter, if I’m late—” His cheeks turned pink and his eyes flashed with embarrassment, and then very clearly with anger. “Is this amusing to you?” he shouted.

“Definitely not.”

“He’s not doing it, Malfoy,” Hermione said, pointing at the ceiling.

“A floating shrub? So what?”

“Have you really never seen mistletoe?” Ron asked.

“Of course I have,” Malfoy said, but he looked again. “Oh. I suppose it is. I don’t give a damn, just cancel this blasted spell! I have to get to class _now_.”

“Would if I could, trust me,” Ron said. “For Harry’s sake.”

“What are you talking about?”

Harry groaned, and Malfoy looked at him. Harry didn’t want to look at him, though. He really, really wished Ron had just fucking kissed him and gotten it over with. Now he’d have to… No, it was too horrible to think about. Was this actually happening? He felt his entire face heat up so badly he wouldn’t be surprised if he were as bright a beet. Plus his stomach was fluttering madly with stress because this was absolutely the worst, most horrible person who could have stumbled into him at this moment.

“SOMEONE TELL ME WHAT’S GOING ON!”

“Maybe if you do it quickly, Harry,” Hermione said, “it won’t be so bad.”

“DO WHAT?!”

“I would rather be stuck here ‘till Easter,” Ron said.

“You’re not helping,” Hermione said.

“Maybe that mistletoe’s the reason they’re stuck,” Goyle said.

Bless him.

“I suppose I’ll have to?” Harry said, imploring Hermione with his eyes because if anyone could think of an alternate solution, she could.

But apparently, she couldn’t. Not this time. “There’s nothing else for it,” she said, as though reading his mind.

Harry sucked in a breath. “Fine.” Finally, he turned to Malfoy.

Malfoy’s lips were downturned in a frown. Those were the lips he’d have to kiss. Very angry lips, at the moment. Sure, they were also pink and nicely shaped, if Harry were to take their full assessment. They weren’t objectively bad lips.  It was just the fact they belonged to Malfoy that ruined them, quite honestly. If they had been anyone else’s lips, Harry might have considered them attractive. Sultry, even, the way the top lip curled so lushly into a sneer like that. Maybe just a quick kiss wouldn’t be so bad if he imagined they belonged to someone else.

They could be anyone’s lips, he told himself as he shut his eyes. But as he slowly leaned forward, he knew very damn well whose lips they were. There was no escaping the fact that he was about to kiss Malfoy; the magnitude of it washed over him and gave him an odd rush of tingles.

There was an intake of breath but Harry heard it as if from a distance; he couldn’t tell whether it had been Ron or Hermione or even Goyle’s. Or maybe it had been Malfoy’s. But Harry’s ears were rushing with the sound of his own pulse pounding.

His lips touched Malfoy’s lips. He registered the softness of them, the slight give when Harry pressed against them with his own. It was strange… He wasn’t exploding, or bursting into flames, or throwing up. He was kissing Malfoy and nothing distinctly catastrophic was happening. If he had to describe it, he’d say it was less disgusting than handling Flobberworms in Potions but not as nice as treacle tart. It was bewildering to note that kissing Malfoy fell somewhere in between there.

And because of that unthinkable realization, he had a deep desire to take another look and see if this really _was_ Malfoy he was kissing and not part of some sort of midday hallucination. Harry pulled away and opened his eyes. Malfoy’s eyelids fluttered open as well, revealing an unfocused gaze. Yes, it was definitely him, looking flustered but positively Malfoy-ish.

Malfoy’s mouth fell open but no words came out. Again, the evidence against this actually being Malfoy was adding up.

“I can’t believe you just did that,” Ron said, and Harry remembered he was there. He and Hermione were both there, and they had seen him kiss Malfoy. And so had Goyle, for that matter. Ron was shaking his head, his eyes wide with disbelief.

“Try to move now, Harry,” said Hermione.

It came back to him then, the predicament that led to this in the first place. Harry’s brain was obviously a bit muddled after such an unsavory experience. He tried lifting his right leg to take a step forward… and it worked!

“Aha! There you go!” Ron cheered. “Thank Merlin. Imagine if it hadn’t worked and you had to try kissing Malfoy again.”

Harry laughed nervously. He was definitely feeling strange and would be happy to just get to class and put this whole thing behind him. Hopefully he’d forget about it by dinnertime (by which time, he’d be _ravenous_ ; he had still not forgotten how Hermione had ruined his lunch). Hermione came up to him and began rubbing soothing circles into his back.

“I’m so sorry for you,” Ron was saying as they continued on their way. “Was it terrible? What am I saying, of course it was terrible. I mean, I was trying not to gag just watching it. Oh, all right, I did gag a little. But it was just _terrible_!”


	2. Chapter 2

Draco watched the three of them walk away with his heart still hammering in his chest. He had no idea what had just happened, or why, but he knew for certain that because of that fucking halfwit Potter, he was going to be late to Transfiguration. McGonagall was going to throw a fit, no matter what he said about Potter trapping him in the hallway and _kissing_ him!

She wouldn’t believe it, and he couldn’t even blame her because no one would believe such a story. If a bloody Seer had come up to Draco that morning at breakfast and told him Harry Potter was going to plant a big wet one on him, he’d have told them to take their arse straight to the the Janus Thickey ward. 

Goyle was just staring at him with his mouth open. 

“What are you looking at?” Draco snapped. He cast a retrieval spell on his books with such force that one of them flew at him and nearly struck him in the head; thankfully, he ducked just in time. “Don’t say anything.” He stormed down the hall, bag in hand, and Goyle stumbled along after him. 

As expected, McGonagall had not been happy. But surprisingly, she hadn’t expelled him or called the Aurors to take him straight to Azkaban, where a cell was waiting for him lest he screw up. The nice man from the Ministry reminded him of that weekly in his letters. Draco wondered if McGonagall had seen the abject panic in his eyes and had been therefore swayed. Pansy said McGonagall was merciful and “kind”, but all Draco could hear was that she pitied him, and that made him feel like shit.

Pansy was McGonagall’s number one fan now. 

“You don’t know how _kind_ she was to me after the battle,” Pansy kept saying to anyone who was willing to listen; which didn’t describe Draco, but she forced him to listen anyway. “She saved me,” Pansy would say tragically and with feeling. 

“Saved you from what?” Draco asked her during the first Hogsmeade trip. She was having a cappuccino at three in the afternoon and he was on his second pint. “Your parents’ summer home in Nice?” Pansy was so fucking melodramatic. He knew her well enough by now to be used to her theatrics, but being so personally involved in the matter was grating his nerves more than usual. Pansy just took such pleasure in giving everything a romantic spin. Something she was doing right at that moment.

“I was confused, Draco, you know this. A lost soul.” Her manicured nails traced the rim of her porcelain cup. “My family wanted me to follow them down a treacherous path, but all I could see was how my friends were all in danger.” A few months ago, Pansy could pretty much have given a fuck about anyone at Hogwarts, but now they had all been her ‘friends’. “My heart was tearing apart. Professor McGonagall understands that.”

“Oh, why don’t you just bend over for her already?”

And then Pansy wanted to join that stupid group Granger headed with its ridiculous mission. Spreading cheer around the school? Who had ever thought up such a stupid idea? But apparently McGonagall loved it, so Pansy loved it too. Pansy’s ability to be charming was really underrated, Draco thought, because the next thing he knew, she was bragging about how McGonagall had made her co-chair of the cock committee. (“Such a magnanimous woman. I won’t let her down! This committee will spread the most cheer Hogwarts has ever seen.”) _Gag me_ , was the first thought that came to mind. 

He stretched his back and checked the clock on the wall between two tall shelves of books. In two minutes it would be time to go to dinner, but he wondered whether he should skip it. He still had so much research to do on this Charms paper, and the library was blissfully quiet over dinnertime. Besides, he thought as something twisted in his stomach, he didn’t want to risk running into Potter. 

Although, Potter did owe him an explanation! Perhaps he should go to dinner after all and look for an opportunity to catch Potter alone. The kiss lingered on his mind and he couldn’t shake the feel of it, even all these hours later. It had only been a quick, chaste thing, but the delicious tingle of nerves that ran down his arms and legs renewed at the memory.

He was going to have to punch Potter in the face. There was nothing else for it. 

But he couldn’t, he realized, and his stomach dropped. That would be just the kind of trouble Draco was supposed to avoid getting himself into, and he didn’t fancy having to explain that one to his parole officer. 

“There you are!”

Oh, bloody hell, just what he needed. Pansy practically galloped over to him in her excitement. She took the seat across from him. 

“What is this I hear about you snogging Potter in the hallway?”

Draco groaned and slumped down in his seat. 

“Is it true? Tell me it’s true! It’s so fucking impossible that it must be true. No one could make something like that up and say it with any semblance of seriousness. Unless it was true!”

“It’s true, all right?” He scowled. “Now would you please calm down?”

Pansy let out a squeal that made a Ravenclaw boy sitting two tables away look up at them sharply. Draco glared at the boy until he turned around and minded his own business again. 

“But how did this happen?” Pansy asked, leaning so far forward her elbows touched the cover of Draco’s open book. “Goyle said Potter wouldn’t leave until he’d kissed you. That’s sort of romantic.”

“It was not romantic! There was nothing romantic about it, it was just some stupid charmed mistletoe, I think. Seemed like, anyway. I don’t know how it got there...” He twirled his quill. “Maybe Potter planted it… Though why would he do that? No, it doesn’t seem likely. But I’ve been thinking it over for hours and I still can’t figure out a logical explanation for it.” Not that anything that usually happened around this school could be described as logical.

“The mistletoe forced you to kiss?” Pansy’s eyes widened and her shoulders dropped.

“What is it? Something’s wrong, I can see it in your face. You know about this!”

“No, it’s just—Peeves—We never thought he’d—Oh, never mind.” She waved a hand and laughed breathily. “C.O.C. stuff, you wouldn’t be interested.”

“I mind very much! Especially if it affects me, Pansy! I don’t understand, what does any of this have to do with Peeves?” Then it became clear and he couldn’t help but let out a humourless laugh. He would have found it hilarious, actually, if it had happened to anyone else. “Of course. That poltergeist was always pulling pranks and making himself the worst nuisance. He planted the mistletoe, didn’t he?” Pansy nodded. “I suppose he thinks it’s funny to force two people who despise each other to humiliate themselves by kissing.”

“Well, I don’t think it was a personal vendetta, Draco,” she explained patronizingly. “But he obviously finds it funny, yes. He’s just angry we didn’t let him join the C.O.C, I’m sure his little tantrum will pass.”

Draco rolled his eyes. This C.O.C. business was getting under his skin more and more each day, and it was sorely failing at spreading any actual cheer. In fact, so far it seemed only to have accomplished the opposite. 

“Besides, you don’t hate Potter, do you?” Pansy’s grin spread devilishly across her face. “Not anymore,” she prompted. “Not really.”

“How would you know?” Draco narrowed his eyes and shifted nervously in his seat. 

Pansy shrugged and raised her chin in a smug gesture. “I, for one, know when to show appreciation where it’s due.”

“Oh come off it already, everyone can see through your little suck-up act. I’m sure Granger can, at the very least.” He ignored her huff of offense. “I know you’re not actually grateful to McGonagall, you’re just milking it for all it’s worth. I’m certainly not going to prostrate myself at Potter’s feet.

“Well, it seems you actually know very little about me.” She pursed her lips, making a show of being put out. “So you hate him. Fine.” She didn’t sound convinced. “That still doesn’t mean you couldn’t enjoy snogging him.”

“You are special, Pansy, really.”

It seemed she couldn’t resist much longer, and her eyes got their bright curiosity back as she asked, “Oh, come on, Draco, be a sport. Tell me what it was like! He’s the bloody Saviour, you can’t blame me for wanting to know all the details.”

Draco swallowed and looked out the window. Night had fallen and the grounds were lit with floating lanterns that shone along the dark pathways. “It was just a kiss.”

“So you didn’t like it?”

“No.”

Pansy at least found the decency to drop it. “Tell you what,” she offered. “How about we go get a spot of dinner, before Goyle’s snagged all the rolls at the table, and then you can come with me to the C.O.C. meeting. Hm?”

“How about not?”

“Oh come on. Granger will be there and it’s likely she’ll be ranting about Peeves. Don’t you want to see that? Granger’s rants are always such a sight; it might cheer you up a bit.”

“I don’t need cheering.” He decided he hated that bloody word. “I need to finish this essay so I don’t get chucked into detention. Besides, Granger will just be pissed off that Potter had to kiss me. You know, _me_ , the horrible Death Eater. I’d rather not have to listen to that, thanks.”

“Suit yourself.” Pansy got up. “But don’t be sitting in the common room later whinging about how hungry you are. It’s your own fault you’re skipping dinner.”

She did have a point; Draco hated missing a meal. It made him unbearably whingy. “If I come to dinner, will you promise not to pester me to come to the cock meeting?”

“Oh, but if only it were...”

The way to dinner was bustling with students all heading in the same direction. Somewhere not too far from their old History of Magic classroom, Draco found himself stuck.

He tried to move his legs. Right, then left. But no matter what he did, he was glued to the spot. With a groan, he looked up at the ceiling. Sure enough, there dangled a scraggly bunch of mistletoe. 

“Oh, blast, not again!” A spike of panic rose up in him when he thought about having to kiss the next person who roamed too close. 

Thank Merlin that person was Pansy. Which he should have expected, seeing as she was walking right beside him. Draco breathed a sigh of relief.

“We’re going to have to,” he said, almost apologetically.

“For old times’ sake?” Pansy grabbed him by the shirtfront and smacked one on him. It was familiar and accompanied by a warm rush of comfort. He decided to try and be a bit nicer to Pansy from now on, as the kiss reminded him of how long they’d been friends and how far they’d come together. And she’d only thrown a short, month-long tantrum at the end of Fourth Year when she’d learned he couldn’t get excited for her. For Pansy, that was being a sport. 

As they continued down to the Great Hall, he noticed the stuff everywhere. It was in every corner, floating above every entranceway. Filch had a rickety old ladder out that he tried leaning against anything solid, waving a long stick that he used to try to shake the things down. Granger was there, too, her hair flying all over the place, trying to hit the wayward sprigs with a spell; but they appeared to be just as budge-proof as they rendered their victims. McGonagall was shouting—at Peeves, at everyone. Peeves himself zoomed around in circles, apparently unable to contain his glee. “Are you satisfied?!” McGonagall kept screaming and chasing him with her wand out. And when students got in her way, she snapped at them, too: “Watch where you’re going! If you push me underneath one of those things, the only thing you’ll be kissing is 500 house points goodbye!”

The castle had collapsed into chaos. With a sprig of mistletoe every few feet, people were kissing each other left and right. Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas were openly snogging way past the unsticking point.

“You’re right, Pansy, the C.O.C. is spreading loads of cheer this year.”

“This isn’t our fault!”

“For once, I have to agree with you, Parkinson.” Granger made her way to them, eyes cast upwards and walking carefully around one that floated in her path. “There’s no way we could have known Peeves would do something like this.”

“Perhaps we should have appeased him and given him some menial task,” Pansy said. “Anything that would have kept him distracted.”

Granger shook her head. “No, we did the right thing. Peeves responds best to strength and firm boundaries. He will get bored of this soon enough and then he’ll learn that any future brattish antics won’t sway us.”

“So I suppose we’ll just have to tip-toe around for the next few days?”

“I’m hoping McGonagall can round him up as soon as tonight.”

“Have you gotten stuck with anyone yet?” Pansy asked.

Granger smiled shyly. “Thankfully just with Ron. He stuck close by me all day.”

“How noble. And where is Prince Charming now?”

“Oh, he and Harry are holed up in the tower. They don’t fancy risking it.”

“And I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be brave,” Draco said, admittedly irked that he wouldn’t be seeing Potter tonight after all; though it was for the best, not having to see his ugly face. Granger gave him a strange sort of look and he wished he hadn’t said anything at all. She was obviously recalling the earlier incident, and he wondered if Potter had said anything to her afterward about it. 

Well, of course, Potter had probably told her how disgusting it had been. 

Granger turned back to Parkinson. “I think dinner’s canceled since the entrance to the Great Hall has at least twenty springs dangling in it. Do you want to walk to the meeting with me?”

Pansy’s eyebrows shot up. “Sure thing, Granger.”

“Don’t worry, I’m still furious with McGonagall for making you co-chair.”

“Oh. Goody...”

“Just try to walk at least two feet away from me. You know… Just in case.”

Draco watched them walk together, which was a bewildering picture indeed. Almost more bewildering than the sight of Parvati Patil and Theodore Nott wrapped around each other to his left. 

He really should have just stayed in the library. It had been pointless venturing out now since he couldn’t even get dinner. Should he go back and work on the essay or should he just go down to the dungeons and call it an early night? If he stayed up, there was always a risk of getting stuck somewhere later, even if he tried very hard to avoid the blasted things. Did he really want to risk having to kiss someone again? The scary part was, it could be anyone. Just any random person walking by. No, better not. The dungeons were the safest bet. The essay wasn’t due for another two days so he could just as easily finish it tomorrow. 

Luckily there weren’t many people walking along the same route, and neither was there a lot of mistletoe. Draco could only smirk, since it was common knowledge that the only person Peeves was truly afraid of was the Bloody Baron. He had probably stayed quite clear of the Dungeons when spreading his little prank. At least that was one good thing about being in Slytherin these days. 

He had a good hot chocolate to look forward to—he could just ring a house elf to bring one up—and a warm bed in which to cozy up into with today’s copy of the _Prophet_. He hadn’t had a chance to read any more than the front page since breakfast and there was an article on page six on Healership scholarships he’d wanted to—

No! No! This couldn’t be! There hadn’t even been any mistletoe in sight! 

Draco scrambled to his feet. His legs seemed to be working, and he tried taking one experimental step. His right leg moved. Well, that was different. And a huge relief! But his left leg? Sweet Merlin’s mercy, it moved too. So where was the mistletoe? Looking around and above and in all directions, he couldn’t spot a single branch. And who had knocked him over?

Something shimmered in front of him, and then Potter was standing there as if he’d always been there, but Draco knew he hadn’t been there a second ago. 

“Where did you come from?” he demanded. 

Potter smiled sheepishly and held up some sort of cloak. 

Draco stared. “Is that—”

“Yeah...but anyways! Sorry I knocked you over. At least this area’s clear.” He laughed in a weird, hollow way. He was nervous. 

“Don’t want to have to endure that again,” Draco said, nodding. “Once was quite enough.”

Potter’s lips thinned. “Right. Exactly.”

“Well, I was on my way to… So I’ll just…” He made to move around Potter, and Potter moved in the same direction. 

“Oh.” Potter then moved the other way just as Draco did the same. They almost bumped into each other again.

“Stop moving,” Draco snapped. 

“You stop.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Draco exhaled. “Where are you doing here anyway? We’re closer to the dungeons than to Gryffindor tower. I thought you were up there hiding.” 

Oh, fuck, why had he said that? His face started burning but he couldn’t very well look away now. But he had just practically admitted he’d been talking about Potter. Talking about him after they’d kissed. 

How pathetic!

“Uhm. I’m on my way to the kitchens. Ron and I skipped dinner but now we’re starving.”

“Understandable. I was going to call a house elf to my rooms, myself.”

“I don’t want to bother them to make the extra trip. I don’t mind going down myself.”

Draco bristled and remembered why talking to Potter infuriated him. “I’m not trying to overwork them, if that’s what you mean. All I wanted was a hot chocolate.” Great, now he sounded like a spoiled First Year. “Spiked with brandy.” And now he sounded like he casually drank on a Wednesday. “It’s very good that way. Have you tried it?”

Potter shook his head. “Can’t say that I have.” 

“Well you should. It really takes the edge off.”

“Having a bad day, Malfoy?”

“Well, it began by snogging you.”

Potter’s eyebrows shot up. He probably should not have said it like that, but it didn’t appear that Draco had insulted him. In fact, Potter was smiling. “You know, that probably merits something stronger than brandy.”

Draco’s lip twitched. At that moment, his stomach growled audibly.

“Are you as hungry as I am?” Potter asked. 

“Well no one could go to dinner because that blasted mistletoe was overtaking the Great Hall. So yes, actually, I’m famished.”

“Well then let’s quit hanging around here and go get something to eat.” Potter turned and proceeded down the hall that led to the Hufflepuff basement. Potter called over his shoulder. “Coming? They probably have loads of shepherd’s pie left.”

His stomach growled again at those words and made his mind up for him. He readjusted his bag on his shoulder and jogged to catch up to Potter.


	3. Chapter 3

Malfoy was walking beside him on their way to the kitchens and Harry found it a bit surreal. Not unpleasant, just surreal. It didn’t feel like walking next to Ron, who was a lot taller; nor like walking with Hermione, who was shorter. But more than that, of course, there was a different essence to Malfoy. Harry couldn’t help looking sideways at him as they strode along the dimly-lit hall. The scarce light from the torches managed to illuminate his profile. He had a very straight nose. 

They walked in silence until they reached the kitchens, and Harry tickled the pear in the painting. The house elves were excited to see him, as usual, and having Malfoy along made it a little embarrassing just how much, though Harry couldn’t tell why; he wasn’t ashamed of being friends with the house elves, it’s just they kept talking to him with the reverence one might have for their creator. Eventually he managed to secure them both a piping hot bowl of shepherd’s pie and they sat at a long wooden table and tucked in. 

Harry tried not to watch Malfoy eat. He focused on his own food, which was bloody delicious. But between spoonfuls, he couldn’t help sneaking glances at him. He couldn’t say what he found fascinating about watching Malfoy chew, but its rhythmic process mesmerized him. 

“What?” Malfoy said, grabbing a napkin and dabbing at his mouth self-consciously.

“Nothing,” Harry said, laughing. He really had to stop; he didn’t want to make Malfoy nervous.

They didn’t talk, but Harry was perfectly okay with that. He was grateful the house elves were clanging about, or else it would have been dreadfully silent. What was he going to say to Draco Malfoy anyway? Come to think of it, he didn’t know why he had decided to sit here and eat with him. Harry was supposed to have come down, snagged some food for him and Ron, and brought it back up to Gryffindor tower. There had been specific instructions. He had even taken the cloak to ensure maximum speed of food obtaining and delivery, so that there’d be no chance of bumping into anyone he knew or being detained. 

But of course, he had bumped into someone he knew, and here he was detained. And Ron was a horror when he was kept hungry. He considered cutting this short and going back upstairs, but there was something almost pleasant about sitting here in companionable silence with Malfoy and listening to the house elf chatter while they ate. Surely there was no harm in keeping Ron waiting just a tiny bit longer. 

“Are you going to get that hot chocolate?” he asked Malfoy. 

“Oh, why not.”

Harry asked Winky if they had any, and she was more than happy to oblige. He could do without the, _“Anything for you, oh glorious Harry Potter, sir!”_ but there was really no avoiding that sort of thing. He cringed as Malfoy rolled his eyes. “And do you have any brandy?” he added, after which he felt immediately guilty because he knew Winky was trying to quit drinking.

“Oh, yes, Harry Potter, Winky has just the thing!” 

She scrambled away with enthusiasm. 

“You could tell them to rob Gringott’s for you, and they’d do it,” Malfoy said, wearing an amused smirk. 

“Heh.” Harry looked down, grinning. “They do too much for me already.”

“They like you.” Malfoy shrugged. “I can see why.” Then he looked alarmed and added, “Just don’t tell anyone I said that.”

Harry laughed. “Don’t worry, I won’t let on that you think I’m all right.” He liked the way Malfoy looked away and the way his cheeks flushed. 

Winky returned with the two mugs of hot chocolate and Malfoy accepted his. He blew on it, his lips forming an ‘o’. It didn’t remind Harry of puckering lips at all. Malfoy gingerly brought the steaming mug to his mouth. It was then he looked up. 

Alarmed at being caught staring, Harry took a gulp of his own hot chocolate. Fire—that was what he had swallowed. He coughed fitfully and reached for his glass of water, guzzling it down to cool his mouth. When his eyes finally stopped watering, he realized Malfoy was doing the staring this time, his jaw dropped and his hand raised like he was going to reach out, but hesitating. 

“Be fucking careful, Potter!” He sat back again when he saw Harry was going to come out of this alive after all.

“I think I’ve burned my tongue off.” Harry stuck it out as if the cool air would soothe it, but it didn’t really help. 

“You’re an idiot.” 

“Some compassion, please?”

“Never.” Malfoy took a sip just then as though to demonstrate the proper way to do such a basic thing. His lips were pursing again.

Harry decided to be brave and try again. This time, the taste of brandy whirled over his tongue and gave the chocolate a certain depth, not to mention a rather different sort of warming quality after it entered his stomach.

“You’re right,” Harry said, “it’s good this way.” A smile pulled Malfoy’s lips, and it struck Harry how even Malfoy’s genuine smiles looked devious. Harry cleared his throat. “Did you make it to class all right?”

“Hm?” Malfoy raised his eyebrows.

“This morning… after….” He cleared his throat again. It must be dry; he took another sip of cocoa. His face was hot but that was probably from the near-third-degree burn and the brandy. “Was McGonagall ticked off?”

“Oh!” Malfoy licked his lips, his smile falling. “No, actually, it was alright in the end.”

“I’m glad. I would hate to think I had anything to do with getting you in trouble.”

“Trouble avoided.”

“Not that it was my fault, technically, but all the same.”

“Don’t worry.”

He really should just avoid bringing up anything to do with that kiss, because now Malfoy was looking around like he was searching for an exit. Come to think of it, he had best be getting back to Ron with his serving of pie.

“It’s getting late,” he said, pushing his mug away. “I should be going.”

“Me too,” Malfoy said, though he looked reluctant to put his down. He took another long swallow before getting up too. 

After the house elves wrapped up Ron’s dinner and placed it in a basket along with some bread and a bottle of juice, Harry thanked them and then he and Malfoy crept back out from behind the painting. The castle seemed dark and still after the hustle and bustle of the kitchen.

Harry awkwardly carried the basket in one hand with his cloak bunched up on top of it, feeling like his other arm was dangling awkwardly and uselessly. He stuck it in his pocket. Malfoy was not saying anything, either, his stride clipped and controlled. 

They had almost reached the place they’d met, where the corridor split. Malfoy would turn down to the dungeons and Harry would make his way back toward the Great Hall before climbing the staircase to Gryffindor Tower. Apparently the same thought crossed Malfoy’s mind as well because he said:

“Don’t break your neck climbing all those stairs, Potter.”

Harry was too busy thinking of a good retort to notice the green and red up above. 

His next step almost gave him whiplash because his body moved forward but his legs didn’t. His heart started battering his chest. He really couldn’t believe it—there had been no mistletoe here before! And Hermione had been certain McGonagall was going to take care of it. When Hermione was certain of something, it almost always turned out to be true! He stared at Malfoy, aware that his mouth was hanging open.

Malfoy was staring back, his grey eyes reflecting the mixture of disbelief and vague horror that Harry felt in his gut. There was only one way to get out of this, and they both knew what that was. 

So why was neither of them moving? 

Harry should just lean in and do it. Get it over with. He tried telling this to his body but it wasn’t obeying him in the slightest. If it would only listen to reason: this had to be done and the sooner he did it, the sooner he could resume his mission of delivering food and going to bed. This was nothing. Just another innocent peck. 

The second in one day. What were the odds? Whereas before he got up this morning, he had never imagined kissing Malfoy even once, today he would end up kissing him twice. Just as soon as he leaned forward and did it.

But he was spared because Malfoy started leaning in first. As he neared, Harry caught a whiff of brandy and the incongruously clean the smell of Malfoy’s wool robes. The combination was intoxicating enough to make his eyes fall shut. And that’s when he felt it, so softly: Malfoy kissed him. 

Their lips pressed together, a gentle coupling. Harry’s chest was all taut with nerves, and they seemed to loosen only when he lifted his hand to Malfoy’s face. He held him, thumb tracing his cheekbone, as he moved his lips. He heard Malfoy’s soft intake of breath, and a fluttering followed somewhere in Harry’s chest amongst all the nerves that only drove him to deepen the kiss. His heart beat persistently as he gently sucked on Malfoy’s bottom lip. 

Malfoy shifted, bringing his hand to Harry’s waist, which brought their bodies closer and fitting snugly together. It felt like the most natural thing in the world to tilt Malfoy’s head back so that Malfoy’s lips parted just so. When their tongues met, desire shot through Harry’s body and settled low in his stomach. He groaned into Malfoy’s mouth, wanting to taste more of him. Malfoy made a fist in Harry’s shirt. 

Harry continued to kiss him, taking that plunge over and over, because kissing Malfoy made him dizzy and he never realized it could feel so good. 

When they paused to take a breath, Malfoy pulled away. He looked at Harry with wide eyes that were surprisingly sharp. Letting go of his grip on Harry’s shirt, he stepped away.

Once Harry realized the hold of the mistletoe was gone, the world crashed over him again like a cold bucket of water. His heart was continuing to thump against his ribs, but it began to slow down as the moments ticked by. Harry licked his lips, tasting a hint of brandy and chocolate, and then pressed them together resolutely. 

“I have to go,” he said.

“Yes, me too,” Draco replied, his voice lower than usual. He took another tense step away from him. “Goodnight, Potter.”

Harry turned on his heel and made haste toward the staircase. He thought fleetingly of how Ron’s food was probably cold by now and how Hermione would have to reheat it. What was he going to tell them? 

He was extra careful about watching for mistletoe on his way up and even lit his wand and aimed it at the ceiling. The last thing he needed was to be stuck in the cold corridors all night with no one around to unstick him.

To his surprise, neither of them asked many questions about what had taken him so long—they’d barely even noticed his absence. It turned out Ron’s stomach was the last thing on his mind when he had Hermione in his bed. Harry even had to wait outside in the common room until the premises was deemed clear again. 

He found Neville doing the same. Harry dragged his feet over to where Neville sat by the fireplace and plopped down in an armchair. “Kicked you out, too, did they?” he asked. 

Neville nodded. “I’ve already been here nearly an hour. Seamus and Dean haven’t even come back yet at all.”

“Where’d they go?” That was odd for them to be out so late on a weekday.

“I think they went to Hogsmeade.” Then Neville lowered his voice to a whisper, even though they were the only two people left in the common room. “I think they’ve gone on a date.”

“Like, a double date?”

“No,” Neville said shaking his head, “ _not_ like a double date.” He was grinning. 

Oh. That meant they had gone on a date… together. With each other. For some reason, the news made Harry’s stomach twist. Also, part of him wondered why he had never noticed such a thing developing between two of his longtime roommates. 

“I heard they were seen kissing under some of that sticky mistletoe earlier,” Neville said. “I guess it was just the push they needed.”

“Wow,” Harry breathed. “So they only realized they liked each other when the mistletoe forced them to kiss?” Harry bit his lip, trying not to think about what that could mean. “Have you ever not realized you might have… feelings for someone, until you kissed them?”

Neville looked down. “Do you mean Ginny?”

“What? No, not at all.” Truthfully, Ginny had been the last person on his mind. “And I’ll tell you for the last time, don’t worry about that, alright? I don’t want to hear it. It’s old news now, we’ve already got past it.” Which hadn’t been strictly true this morning, but all of the sudden, Harry felt like it was true now. 

“I know, Harry. But the thing is, you don’t know just how accurate you are—what you just said. Sometimes you just don’t know how badly you need someone until you’ve kissed them. Especially if your head tells you they’re not right for you. Sometimes your body just knows these things better than you do.”

Harry’s stomach lurched. He remained silent, hoping Neville would elaborate. And he did:

“I had always thought of Ginny as off-limits. Obviously she and you were dating for a while and then you’d broken up after Sixth Year, but it was still messy. At least for her. She always said you’d be getting back together as soon as the war ended. But then last year…” Neville’s eyes regained that tired look he got whenever he talked about last year; the same way everyone got when they remembered and reminisced about the war. “Things just got so intense, Harry. I’m sure you know, but it’s also hard to explain if you weren’t here, at the castle. Ginny and I, it’s like we connected because of that. I think going through something so intense with someone sort of bonds you together. I fell in love with her one day, and realized I could never tell her.” He let out a dry laugh. “So when she kissed me, I almost didn’t believe it was real.”

Harry’s chest tightened, a deep sense of understanding enveloping him, and all previous irritation at Neville evaporating on the spot. He swallowed and nodded. “And Seamus and Dean?”

“I reckon they missed each other something fierce during the bulk of it—what with one of them stuck here and the other out there, and then Dean imprisoned.”

“So they’d always liked each other? Ha… How had I never seen it? Maybe there’s lots of things I haven’t seen.”

“Not everyone caught onto that one, Harry, you don’t need to feel bad. I think most people thought they were just very good friends. Best friends.”

“And the mistletoe was the first time they kissed?”

Neville nodded. 

“In that case, I’m glad for it. I’m glad Hermione didn’t let Peeves into the cock committee and that he got pissed off and went on a spree.”

Neville grinned again. “That’s right. It brought them together. Maybe there is some special magic in those things beyond just the sticking part.” Neville leaned back and gazed at the fire with a contented look returning to his face. 

Something about what he’d just said niggled at Harry. Some special magic? Like, the kind that could bring people together who needed a bit of help?

“Neville—No, nevermind.”

“What is it, Harry?”

He couldn’t bring this up to Neville. Just because the mistletoe made Dean and Seamus kiss, and just because they’d already been dying to be together, didn’t have anything to do with Harry. It couldn’t; it was impossible. Besides Dean and Seamus had been friends for year, and he and Malfoy had… not. 

And just because Harry was just now in his life realizing some of his desires about blokes in no way meant Malfoy fell into that category. Obviously he fell into the bloke category, but not into Harry’s fantasies category. There was no category Malfoy fell in! Unless there was a category for annoying gits, in which case Malfoy held permanent residence. 

“No, it’s silly,” Harry said.

“Tell me, even if it is.”

Harry inhaled. “Have you seen two people kiss under that stuff who looked like they didn’t, in fact, want to be kissing each other?”

Neville’s forehead creased. “I don’t really know. But isn’t that the prank—that people have to kiss people they don’t want to kiss? Or else they’re stuck?”

“Yes, of course, you’re right.” Harry shook his head and looked into the orange flames in the hearth. “Forget I mentioned it.”


	4. Chapter 4

The month of October passed in a whirlwind. Everyone rejoiced when McGonagall finally got Peeves to take the mistletoe down. Mostly, people wanted to be able to get into the Great Hall again; everyone was hungry. 

Draco was glad, too. Quite glad. At least now there was absolutely no possibility he’d ever have to snog Potter again. Thank god for that.

The only times he saw Potter now were mealtimes and in the classes they shared. And sometimes they passed each other in the hallway and he could feel Potter’s gaze on him, and Draco ignored him. 

Before long, it was Halloween night and Draco found himself at his usual spot in the library. The table all but had his name carved into it. He might as well move all his stuff up from the dungeons and just live amongst the stacks. The rest of the Eighth Years were all celebrating Halloween properly: in Hogsmeade, with alcohol. But Draco was too swamped in coursework to go anywhere. If he was going to apply for the Healership scholarship, he had to impress them with his marks. He already had a steep hill to climb with the whole Death Eater thing; graduate school applications were going to be a bitch as it was. 

Granger was the only other person in the library. She had planted herself and her myriad of books at the table in front of him and Draco watched her back as she sat, head down, scribbling furiously on some parchment. 

“Granger,” he whispered. Her quill didn’t even pause. “ _Granger.”_ He finally got her attention and her back stiffened, then she looked over her shoulder. 

“Yes?”

“Aren’t you going out with the rest of them?”

“Clearly not.”

Draco smirked. “Don’t you ever have any fun?”

She pursed her lips for a second before turning around fully to face him. “I have too much work to do. I’m writing a thesis on the sociopolitical culture of house elves for my Master’s.”

His mouth fell open. “Granger, are you completing graduate courses as well as taking your N.E.W.T.S?”

She nodded. “Well I have to if I’m going to finish my doctorate by the end of next summer.”

He shook his head, exhaling. “And you still find time to run that bloody committee. No wonder McGonagall put Pansy on, she probably thought you’d go mad without some extra help.”

“Oh, bother.” Granger rolled her eyes. “I keep telling everyone, I _like_ the extra... Nevermind. Why aren’t _you_ at Hogsmeade?”

Draco held up his textbook, showing her the cover: _Working Stiff: The Makings of a True Healer_. Her face brightened.

“Are you interested in becoming a Healer?”

He inclined his head. 

“You were always good at Potions. I think you’d make a better medical researcher or a medical chemist than a Healer.”

Draco bristled but only levied her a look. “Good thing I didn’t ask for your opinion then.”

“I’m just saying.” She shrugged. Then she looked at the rolls of parchment in front of him—the scholarship application—and Draco felt the urge to sweep it away. “Good luck,” she added with a genuine smile, then turned back to her own work. Soon her quill was scratching ceaselessly again. 

“What is Potter dressed as?”

She stopped. Turned. “You mean for Halloween?”

“No, for the school play.” He smiled so that she’d know he wasn’t being a prick. “Yes, obviously.”

“He, Ron, and Neville decided to go as the Three Blind Mice. They’ve put on blindfolds, ears, and tails and gone stumbling around Hogsmeade like idiots. I told them _not_ to drink with blindfolds on but do you think they listen to me? No. They never listen—”

Granger’s rant went on for a good two minutes, but Draco couldn’t pay attention any more as images of Potter dressed as a mouse assailed him. It was not in the least bit endearing. It was something Draco would have made fun of him for years ago, thinking up some good insults to whip at him. And with good reason, because it was a stupid costume, really. A juvenile antic. He tapped his quill against the desk, looking out over the grounds and imagining all the people that were milling about town in costume just then.

As it turned out, Granger wasn’t as bad a Draco originally thought—a realisation he vowed never to tell to anyone, ever. She even helped him with his application, giving him feedback on the topic of his entrance essay and pointing out its weak points. She was a horrible know-it-all and a bit bossy about her advice, but she really did have great insights. The girl was smart. 

They were so wrapped up in conversation, he didn’t think twice about them walking from the library together until they’d reached the entrance hall. At that point, they stopped and were about to part ways. 

“If I take your advice and they reject me,” Draco said, “I’m coming after you, Granger.”

She smiled at him—something she insisted on doing much too often for Draco’s comfort. “You’re welcome, Malfoy.”

He was about to begin the journey down to Slytherin when the front doors of the castle burst open, and through them stumbled three haggard-looking beggars. Oh, no, upon closer look, it was just Potter and his sidekicks. 

Potter and Weasley stood on either side of Longbottom, hoisting him up by each arm. One of Longbottom’s feet dragged. Granger rushed over to them, hair flying.

“What did you _do_?”

“We didn’t do anything!” Weasley retorted. “He tripped over an empty beer bottle all on his own. Got his ankle twisted.”

Granger dropped to have a look and assess the damage, gingerly touching Longbottom’s foot. “What did I tell you about those blindfolds? You’d have to be completely stupid to think that was a good idea.”

“It was fun until Neville had to go and ruin it!”

“I’m sorry—” Longbottomed hiccupped. “Leave me. Save yourselves.”

“What is he talking about?” Granger groaned. “He’s drunk.”

“Yeah,” Potter said. “He’s been saying that the whole way here. I think he means we should go have fun without him, but we couldn’t leave him like this, obviously.”

“And there were no carriages coming back,” Ron said. “We both drank too much to Apparate. So we had to walk the whole way.” 

“Don’t sound so miserable,” Granger said with absolutely no sympathy, “it’s your own fault.”

“Hermione, answer me one thing,” Ron said. _“How_ were we supposed to be the Three Blind Mice without blindfolds?”

She shook her head and ignored him, pointing her wand at Longbottom’s ankle. “What was that incantation…?”

“Brackium Emendo,” Draco said.

They turned to him like they had just noticed him standing there. Apparently, Granger also seemed to have forgotten about him. 

“The bone setting spell,” Draco clarified.

“That’s right, thank you, Malfoy. It slipped my mind.” Granger performed the spell and Longbottom winced as his bones crackled softly with magic and re-aligned themselves. “We should bring him to the hospital wing anyway, if only for a Sobering Tonic.”

“NO! Don’t need it!” Longbottom shouted. “Need more whiskey!” He fist-pumped the air and almost fell over before Weasley grabbed him by the collar and hoisted him back upright.

“You two can take him, right?” Potter said, his eyes on Draco. His blindfold rested atop his head like a bandana, pushing his ridiculous hair up in every direction. One of the ears from the costume was gone completely, the other dangling on its clip like its time was coming, too. Under his gaze, Draco found the air in the hall had become stifling. 

“No problem,” Weasley said, giving Potter an odd look. He steered Longbottom down the hallway. Granger stuck close to Longbottom’s other side, her lips upturned. 

When they were gone, Potter strolled up to him. “You didn’t come out.”

“No.” Draco was acutely aware of how close they were standing. 

“Don’t you like Halloween?”

“Love it, actually. But I had a lot of work to do.”

Potter shook his head. “You shouldn’t be working on the weekend.” He took a step closer to Draco; too close, like he couldn’t judge boundaries, inviting himself into Draco’s personal space. 

“You’re drunk,” Draco said, his pulse spiking. 

Potter shook his head and waved it off. “No, I’m not.”

“You certainly appear to be.”

“If I were drunk, would I do this?” Potter tipped forward. 

Their lips crashed together, and Draco put his hands out to steady Potter, grabbing him by the arms. And then, only because he felt a bit drunk too—Potter’s proximity seemed to do that to him—he shut his eyes. 

Potter’s lips were warm against his. Soft and familiar, at this point. He found he had missed this since the last time. He sucked on Potter’s lips lightly, savoring the feeling, before Potter pulled away.

Potter’s eyes were bright. “Shit,” he said, swallowing. “I _am_ drunk.”

Something heavy and angry welled up inside Draco like a flood. He was angry at himself for getting swept up in the kiss. He was angry at Potter for kissing him only when he was forced to or when he was drunk. He was angry at himself, again, for liking it so much anyway. His stomach tightened in a knot of misery. 

He couldn’t look into Potter’s eyes anymore, it was too much. They were too bright green and beautiful up close; they were going to destroy him. He had to go. It was time to hide in his room and indulge in some proper self-hatred.

He turned away but Potter grabbed him by the arm. 

“Let me go,” Draco said.

“Why?” Potter stepped closer, if possible, and crowding his space. 

“You’re confused, Potter. There’s no mistletoe here.” He tried to pull his arm away but Potter was strong and he grabbed Draco’s other arm too. 

Before he knew it, he was kissing Potter again, surrendering willingly beneath Potter’s lips. He found himself being walked backward until his back hit a wall. Potter wouldn’t stop kissing him, wouldn’t let him go. He was a force—and it made Draco’s cock begin to harden. 

“Potter…” he said when they broke apart for a moment, but then Potter’s lips stopped him again. Draco moaned from the back of his throat. His hands reached up to pull Potter in by the waist. His body was betraying him. 

Potter ground his hips against his, pressing his surprising hardness against Draco’s. Draco couldn’t breathe. His heart hammered as he sought out that friction again, pulling Potter against him. Their kisses became open-mouthed and frantic. 

Potter’s hands let go of his arms only to find Draco’s waist and begin roaming up and down his torso. Everywhere he touched sent frissons of heat through Draco’s skin. He broke the kiss and leaned into Draco’s neck. “I want...” Potter mumbled close to his ear. 

Under a trance of lust, which rendered it impossible to think clearly at all, Draco found Potter’s zip and began undoing his trousers. He _wanted_ , too. Desperately. He wanted to get ahold of Potter’s cock, to feel the weight of it in his hand. To feel the heat of it in his palm. He reached into Potter’s trousers, and when his fingers brushed the hard length, spikes of pleasure coursed through him. Potter buried his face in Draco’s neck and nearly purred. 

Draco shut his eyes and let it all overcome him as he squeezed Potter’s cock. He could feel it harden by the second. Rather roughly, he pulled it out, pushing Potter’s trousers down at the same time. Potter jerked his hips, pushing his cock through Draco’s fist. Draco started to stroke it. It felt ridiculously good just running his hands along the shaft. It was silky in his palm, and though Draco knew what a dick felt like, this was new. This was Potter. And he was fucking Draco’s fist. 

Draco swept his thumb over the head to spread the precome down and around the shaft. Potter reacted beautifully to being touched like that, letting off a simply gorgeous groan. Draco moved his thumb in slow circles over his slit, relishing the tortured sounds Potter continued to make and how his entire body became loose and fluid. 

“Fuck!” Potter grunted as he ground his hips forward, sliding his cock fully through Draco’s fist again. “I’m gonna fuck you.”

Draco’s mouth fell open as a strangled sound escaped his throat. His body was screaming, _Yes, please, god, fuck me!_ He redoubled his grip on Potter’s cock and stroked him more firmly, keeping up the pace. Potter’s hips moved in tandem, pushing into Draco’s fist and then sliding out, over and over. He grabbed Draco’s face in both hands and pressed their lips together again, snogging him fiercely. 

Draco undid his own trousers with his free hand. He needed to touch his own cock, which was hard as a rock at this point. He paused in his attention to Potter only momentarily but Potter looked down. Instantly, he took up Draco’s shaft in his hand. His palm was hot and tight, and everything in Draco’s world closed in and focused on Potter’s grip. 

“I’m… Oh, shit.” Draco felt the pleasure building in his gut, gathering in one spot, growing more intent the longer Potter stroked him. He continued to do the same, and soon they were both breathing heavily, hips twitching in that final need to thrust. “I’m going to…” Draco felt the rush of it over take him. He shut his eyes. 

He was coming, and Potter’s harsh exhale and tense muscles told him Potter was coming, too. 

Draco’s breathing slowly returned to normal as he stayed like that, in Potter’s arms, leaning back against the wall. The air in the entrance hall rapidly became cool against his skin. Gently, he nudged Potter off him, bringing a hand to Potter’s face and tilting his head back. He wanted to look at him. Maybe kiss him again. 

But he could not catch Potter’s eye. Potter wouldn’t look at him. It was then Draco noticed how painfully still Potter stood. 

He let his hand fall. His stomach made a sickly swoop as he continued to stare at Potter’s face and realized it did not depict someone happy and well-fucked. Draco pulled his wand out of his back pocket and pointed it at his hand, spelling it clean. Then, more carefully, he aimed at his cock which was sticky with come and precome. He then tucked himself back into his trousers.

“Thanks,” Potter mumbled when Draco cleaned him up, too, in a more or less automatic motion. Potter took a large step back and zipped his jeans up as well. 

Draco clenched his hands at his sides. He was almost too scared to ask, but he felt compelled. His voice trembled as he spoke. “Are you sober now?”

Potter looked at him then. His eyes were clear and his lips pressed into a thin line. Draco got his answer. 

“Malfoy, I—” Potter opened and closed his mouth like he couldn’t figure out what to say. “That was—”

He knew Potter would never truly consider being with him. Potter would never want someone like him. Most of the time Draco managed to do a good job of convincing himself he truly didn’t give a fuck. He had tricked himself into believing these growing feelings he had were nothing: the novelty of the mistletoe kisses was addling his brain. The warm and affectionate feelings he was starting to get for Potter were just nonsense, perhaps even misplaced gratitude; a sort of warped imitation of Pansy’s new obsession with McGonagall. 

He was nothing short of horrified when a great rush of emotion swept through his chest and his eyes started to sting. 

“I’m sorry,” Potter said, having found his voice. “I didn’t mean to...”

A punch in the gut would have been less painful. 

“I have to go to bed,” Draco bit out. 

With that, he shoved past Potter and didn’t look back as he marched as fast as he could toward the dungeons. He wanted to hide down there and not emerge until Christmas.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry’s world was crashing down all around him and he had no idea what to do about it. This wasn’t the same as Voldemort-is-going-to-destroy-the-world kind of crashing down, but it was disorienting and panic-inducing in its own right. He had only just figured out girls like, last month, and now this was happening. Not that anyone could figure girls out, he thought, that was impossible. But at least he no longer wanted to throw up from anxiety every time he spoke to a girl.

But girls felt like a piece of cake next to the total mind fuck that was Draco Malfoy. It was a week into November and Harry was still thinking about him. He couldn’t bloody get him out of his mind.

Did he really want Malfoy this badly?

As much as it amazed him, he knew the answer was, most assuredly, yes. For one, his cock wouldn’t let him forget it. The memories of Draco’s mouth on his and Draco’s hand stroking him to hardness seemed to haunt him at night.

But could he actually do this? It was one thing to admit he found blokes like Cedric Diggory and Charlie Weasley hot, and it was one thing to occasionally fantasize about them late at night, maybe with a finger up his arse. But the person he was craving was not Cedric or Charlie; he was not even remotely a friend. 

He was letting a few kisses and a handjob take over his life and convince him he had feelings for Draco Malfoy. 

One day after Potions, he ran up to the dormitory to grab his red and gold knit scarf—now that November had arrived, the weather was starting to get chillier. Dean was sitting in bed with a book open on his knees. Harry smiled at him and Dean gave a short wave before resuming his reading. 

He hadn’t had a proper chance to talk to Dean in ages, or so it seemed with everyone classes and N.E.W.T.S. preparation and some people applying to jobs already. The few times he had spotted Dean and Seamus together, he wanted to give them some space; mostly because Harry felt shy about any sort of public displays, but also partly because they reminded him too much of something he might want for himself. 

They had always hung out together after class and at Hogsmeade, but now it was different. Harry wondered what it would be like to go to Hogsmeade with Malfoy. The thought was almost comical. Imagine him and Malfoy spending any time together without sniping or one of them shoving the other into a wall. 

Okay, maybe that last thought had new meaning now.

And there was also the Yule Ball. Hermione and Pansy had finally set a date, and it would take place December 1. That was only three weeks away. 

He really needed to talk to someone. And even though that person was usually Hermione, this time he wanted to confide in someone who would definitely understand. He bit his lip and walked over to Dean’s bed.

Dean looked up from his book when he approached. “Hey, Harry.”

“Hi.” Harry sat down on the other bed. “How’s everything?”

“Fine.” Dean shut the book completely. “Is everything okay with you?”

Harry smiled nervously. “Yeah, sure. Hey listen, are you going to the Yule Ball? Hermione finally set a date. It’s December first.”

“If there’s going to be drinks for the adults, then Seamus and I will definitely go.”

“That’s actually want I was going to talk to you about.” Harry wiped his palms on the scarf he was holding. 

“About me and Seamus?” Dean’s eyes narrowed a bit. 

“Exactly.”

“You don’t have a problem with us being together, do you?” He sat up straighter. 

“No! Of course not. That’s actually the opposite of what I’m trying to say.”

Dean’s face softened. “Okay.”

Why was this so hard? Harry ignored his spiking pulse and tried to think of how he would say this. Maybe it was best just to say it outright. “It’s just,” he started, licking his lips, “I think I might be gay too.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Oh! That’s… that’s great. Honestly, thanks for telling me, Harry.”

Now that it was out, a huge wave of relief swept over Harry. He exhaled hard. “I honestly don’t know what to do.” And it seemed he couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out once they started. “He’s such a git, and I’m pissed off I had to like _him_ , out of all the blokes it could have been. You know? But he had to be the first. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not mad it happened. But I don’t want to go with anyone but him and I can’t even imagine asking him.”

“Woah, hold on. Who are you talking about?”

This was the part that Harry didn’t want to have to face. He knew his own reasons for not hating Malfoy. He simply couldn’t, not knowing what Malfoy went through as well. Not after Malfoy’s trial, where Harry had found himself thrilled to hear he’d be allowed back at Hogwarts. But no matter what his own feelings were, he was aware many of his friends had suffered at the hands of the Malfoys. Dean had been their prisoner for months. Harry didn’t know how to tell him. 

“I can’t believe it myself,” he said softly, “but it’s Malfoy.”

Dean was quiet. He looked at Harry for long moments, but not with anger or hurt in his eyes. Finally, he said, “I heard Malfoy is applying for Healership. All he does is study. I don’t know if he’ll even go to the Yule Ball.”

For the second time, relief overcame him. Harry laughed. “I don’t even know if he’ll want to go with me.”

“I have a feeling he will.”

Spurred by that, Harry wanted desperately to ask him. 

“But, Harry,” Dean added, “I think you ought to know, I’m not gay.” He waited for Harry to respond, but Harry was having a momentary brain freeze. “I’m bi,” he clarified. 

“Right, of course! Sorry.” Dean had dated Ginny before him, years ago. Harry should have considered it. And actually, something about it felt very right to him. “You like girls, too.” Dean nodded with a smile. “I do too, I think.”

“Yeah,” he said, like he wasn’t surprised.  


*

  
The conversation with Dean was just what he’d needed. He thought about what Dean had said about Draco being addicted to studying, and he smiled. He liked the fact that Draco wanted to be a Healer. Apparently Hermione had spent some time with him on Halloween—before Harry had spent time with him—and she had told them about helping Draco with his application. It kind of alarmed him that he found the thought of Draco studying endearing, and the thought of him as Healer was actually rather hot. 

He hadn’t spoken to him for weeks. Hell, he had hardly seen him! And the fact that Draco hadn’t been seeking him out either hadn’t been encouraging to Harry either. But now he was eager to get Draco alone again. To talk, mostly; though his brain kept supplying him with visions of distracting Draco from his work in the library in many variety of ways. 

“Come with me to the C.O.C. meeting,” Hermione said when she caught up to Harry later that day. “It’s in five minutes and it’s just down the hall in the Charms classroom.”

Harry snorted. “No thanks.” Last time he had seen Hermione, she and Pansy had been picking out snowflake pattern for the streamers that were going to be hung up at the Yule Ball. He couldn’t think of anything he’d like less than to attend a C.O.C. meeting and have to listen to them discuss such things. 

Hermione changed tactics. “We need all the help we can get since we found out there are still some rogue sprigs of mistletoe spread over the grounds. Won’t you help us get rid of it?”

More mistletoe? “How would I even do that? Last time you tried to Incendio them, they multiplied.”

“Yes, but we learned you have to hit them with a Tickle Hex and they start laughing so hysterically they explode. Don’t ask me why or how.” She pursed her lips. “Pansy figured it out.”

“Oh, alright, I’ll help,” he sighed.

Hermione’s face brightened. She lost no time leading him to the Charms classroom. 

As soon as they walked into the room, Harry noticed him. Embarrassingly, his heart skipped a beat. Draco was standing next to Pansy at the front of the room. When he saw Harry walk in, he crossed his arms and turned away. 

Harry suspected it had something to do with how they had parted on Halloween night. He thought back on it and cringed a bit, remembering how confused he had been. He didn’t expect Draco to be happy, though.

The committee consisted of a small group of students and a ghost. Harry could make out the actual committee members from the other volunteers like himself by the C.O.C. badges they wore on their robes. It had only taken Hermione one night to make those. 

“Everyone listen up,” Hermione said, taking a spot at the front of the room. Pansy skipped up to join her. “Thank you for convening tonight for the thirty-eighth meeting of the Committee for the Organization of Cheer.”

 _Thirty-Eighth?_ If Harry remembered correctly, she had started the committee barely five weeks ago.

“As you all know, the mistletoe seems to have gone rogue. Over the weekend, there were five different sightings of mistletoe sprigs over the Hogwarts grounds, but there could be more. I believe there’s definitely one by Greenhouse 3. Someone spotted Professor Sprout and Madam Hooch getting, er, stuck.”

Pansy jumped in. “We need to take partners, everyone, so couple up!”

“No! Don’t couple up,” Hermione said. “We will assign partners and give you a target location.”

Pansy turned to her. “But people need to partner with someone they wouldn’t mind kissing, just in case.”

“You can all make sure not to get stuck,” Hermione commanded. 

They began arguing about it and Harry tuned out, his eyes roaming instead back to where Draco stood. Whether they were assigned or not, he wasn’t letting Draco partner with anyone else. 

“Fine!” Pansy yelled before turning back to audience of committee members. “If you ever feel the need to impeach a co-chair, you know which one!” She pointed at Hermione, who rolled her eyes but looked pleased with herself for “winning”.

Then Hermione began reading off the partners. When she got to Harry, he decided Pansy was right about the impeachment idea.

“Looks like it’s you and me, Potter,” Pansy said as she grabbed his arm and pulled him to the door. They had been assigned the greenhouses. “Let’s get out there and get this over with.”

Harry looked up to see Draco’s eyes on them, but Pansy continued to pull his arm and he reluctantly followed her. 

When they got to the greenhouses, Harry entered Greenhouse 3 first and looked around. He checked in the corners by the ceiling and behind some of the potted plants, but he couldn’t see the mistletoe anywhere. Finally he heard Pansy from outside.

“It’s over here,” she said. 

He came out to see her pointing her wand at a bundle of green leaves. She cast the Tickle Hex and the plant started to laugh uproariously. In half a minute, it had burst into dust. 

“There,” she said in a self-satisfied tone, “that’s done.” She didn’t spare him a second glance as she started back up the dirt path that led to the castle. “I have to say, you weren’t really much help, Potter.”

She was out of sight for all of two seconds before someone else came barrelling toward him. It was Draco, robes billowing, scowl planted firmly in place. He had his wand in hand. 

“Draco, what are you—” Harry took a step back as Draco rounded on him.

“Did you kiss her?” His eyes were vibrant with emotion. 

“Of course not! What are you talking about?”

Draco dropped his wand arm and pushed Harry hard, until Harry fell back against the greenhouse. Draco followed, closing the distance between them. 

“You didn’t get stuck?”

“No.” Harry understood and part of him wanted to laugh, the other to cheer at having Draco near him again. The fact that Draco was so clearly jealous turned Harry on more than he’d have ever thought. It showed how much Draco wanted him for himself, and that’s all Harry wanted too.

“I thought maybe you had to,” Draco said. “I couldn’t stop thinking you got stuck together. Fuck, you make me crazy, Potter.”

Their faces were inches apart, and all Harry wanted to do was reach out to him, put his hands on him again, and assure him he was the only person Harry wanted to kiss. 

“We didn’t kiss,” Harry repeated. 

Draco nodded slowly. He was still angry, it was clear in his eyes. 

“I’m sorry about that night,” Harry said. 

“You were a dick.”

“I didn’t mean to be. Promise.”

“You know what the worst thing is?” Draco said. 

Harry swallowed. “What?”

“I still want you, you complete fucking asshole.”

Harry couldn’t breathe. “I want you, too,” he said, because it was the most honest thing in the world and it tumbled right out of him effortlessly.

Draco grabbed his face in both hands and kissed him. Harry pulled Draco in by the waist, and in no time, they were snogging desperately. 

“I don’t believe you,” Draco said when he pulled away. “And the thing is, I don’t even blame you.”

“Don’t say that.” Harry kissed him again, pressing their lips together and feeling that familiar rush. It happened every time. “All I can think about is...” He tentatively brought his hands lower and spread his palms around Draco’s arse. 

Draco let out a rushed exhale and pressed closer to him. “I hate you so much, Potter,” he said softly. 

“Do you?” Harry thought about the mistletoe and his suspicions. He thought about all the people the mistletoe had paired. How it appeared and disappeared at the most seemingly convenient times and somehow no one had actually had to kiss someone they didn’t seem all too happy to be locking lips with. 

When he thought of it that way, it didn’t seem like much of a curse at all. Ironically, it might have been Peeves, because of being rejected from the cheer committee, who had spread the most cheer.

“I hate you,” Draco said, nodding. “I do.” He leaned in and kissed Harry so sweetly, it made Harry’s heart feel too big for his chest.

The upcoming Yule Ball came to mind again. Harry knew what he wanted and he decided he wouldn’t take no for an answer. 

“Come with me to the Yule Ball,” he said. Draco narrowed his eyes and didn’t reply. “Don’t try to tell me you’ll be too busy studying, because I know Pansy will force you to go.” Draco rolled his eyes in exasperation, and Harry laughed. “You know she will.”

“Yes,” Draco admitted, “she will.”

“So if you’re going anyways, come with me.”

Draco ran a hand down Harry’s chest. “Like, as your date?”

Harry nodded.


	6. Epilogue

It was snowing. Fat, white snowflakes fell from the sky and coated the entire grounds in a cottony blanket. It was the perfect night for a Yule Ball. But Harry wasn’t even dressed yet. His tailored jacket was tossed over a spare chair next to his trunk, and his trousers needed a good ironing spell. 

He would do it in a minute. Right now he was too busy sucking Draco’s cock. 

He knew Hermione and Ron and everyone else were waiting for them to come down, and for some reason that made it even better getting to share this secret alone time with Draco before the ball. And then, when they were ready, they could stroll in together all flushed and happy from things only they knew.

Draco breathed hard and squirmed on the bed.

Earlier that day, Draco had finally submitted his application for the Healership scholarship. Harry decided the only proper way to celebrate such a feat was showing Draco how proud he was. And what better way than with a blow job?

It had taken them all of two seconds to graduate from kissing and hand jobs to other kinds of physical activity. Some involved a bed, some involved Harry’s library fantasy… But Harry had to admit, the simple act of kissing Draco was still the best feeling in the world.


End file.
